


Wedding Blues

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Ending, Inappropriate Use of Poetry, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Sad, Short, Why Did I Write This?, look if the tags haven't warned you off idk what to tell you, spooky horror wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: There are all sorts of rituals. Not all of them cause the end of the world. Some just make you wish they had.





	Wedding Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird and sad and doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and honestly I'm kinda mad at myself for writing it, but I don't like leaving finished stories sitting in my drafts so I guess y'all can read it if you want.
> 
> The poem quoted/paraphrased is W.H. Auden's "Funeral Blues;" it's also the inspiration for the title.

_ “He was my North, my South, my East and West."  _

Martin's voice echoed in the silence of the church, bouncing off the walls and back to his ears with a hollowness he barely recognized. He stood in front of the pulpit, facing the back wall with its elaborate stained glass; behind him, a long aisle between rows of empty pews. 

_ "My working week and my Sunday rest." _

_ "My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song." _ He didn't turn around as the voice joined his. Footsteps advanced up the aisle behind him, measured and slow. Then Jon was standing beside him, one hand on his shoulder to turn him around. He faced the Archivist with a steady gaze, and Jon's free hand came up to brush his cheek, fingers curling gently against his skin. His voice was soft.  _ "I thought your love would last forever." _

"You were wrong."

Jon's hands slipped away, and he bowed his head in acceptance. 

The sight probably would have hurt Martin, once upon a time. The pain in the Archivist's eyes would have cut him to the bone.

Times changed.

When Jon began to speak again, his voice was rough and unsteady.  _ "The stars are not wanted now; put out every one." _

Martin wasn't sure what had made him choose this poem. It wasn't the words themselves that were important, just that they were spoken here, now, as part of the ceremony. They could have been reading the day's news and it would have had the same effect - and yet, somehow, this had felt appropriate.

_ "Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun." _ A tear slipped down Jon's cheek. Once, Martin would have wanted to reach up and brush it away. He wouldn't have done it - Jon wouldn't have wanted him to, back then. He wasn't sure, even now, if the Archivist would appreciate the gesture. 

His hands stayed by his sides.

_ "Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood." _ Jon's voice caught, and he closed his eyes. He could still See, of course. That was the whole point of him.

Martin smiled, slightly.  _ "For nothing now can ever come to any good." _ There was an edge to his voice that had never been there before, mocking and cold. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but it felt right. Things had changed.  _ He _ had changed. 

He reached out, grabbing Jon's hands in his own, forcing him to open his eyes and look. This was the important part, the binding; everything else was just to set the stage. 

And Jon...  _ Looked. _ Martin opened himself to it, leaving everything he was exposed and vulnerable under the Archivist's gaze. All the old heartaches and hurts, the loves and losses. All and everything was seen and known, and in return he sent...

Silence. 

Stillness.

The quiet core at the heart of all solitude, the forsaken emptiness that had taken the place of all he once was. It invaded the Archivist's mind, stripping every comforting illusion of companionship and love away and leaving only hollowness in its place. 

As the Solitary was known, so the Archivist was abandoned, and he dropped the hands that held his own as though they were suddenly made of ice. His eyes sparkled with bitter tears as the truth of how he had been fooled became clear to him.

"Is it done, then?"

Martin glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room. A wedding needed witnesses, after all, even if the terms of the engagement meant no one else could actually be present.

Somewhere there was a monitor, and behind it a Captain and a Watcher. Martin couldn't see them, couldn't  _ Know _ them, but he knew they would be pleased that their plan had succeeded. 

Lonely but Known, Martin would be the perfect sacrifice for the Extinction. 

Knowing the Lonely - the most elusive of the Powers, the hardest to pin down and See - Jon would be the perfect catalyst for the Watcher's Crown.

Whether Peter or Elias succeeded in completing their plan first was a moot point. Jon and Martin had played their parts - the alliance had served its purpose.

He smiled at Jon, at the man he had once loved, who had agreed to this union not knowing the price he would pay for it - smiled at the thought that for all his Knowing, he hadn't seen that a marriage between powers didn't mean a together-ever-after for the people who followed them. Smiled, and leaned forward to brush a soft kiss against his lips, tasting the salt of his tears and the broken heart behind it. Cruel Beholding, to take Avatars and leave them human. Far kinder to freeze their hearts.

He smiled, and stepped away, leaving Jonathan Sims alone at the alter.

"Yes," he said. "It's done."


End file.
